Genuinely Spooked
by itakethewords
Summary: What happened the first and last time Eames took on Arthur's image in the dreamscape.


_**Author's Note**: Oh, hey look! A new story! Hey guys! Wrote up a quick one-shot for everyone. It's all in good fun, eh?_

_Its based off of a conversation Eames and Ariadne share in Chapter 11 of my story _Shadows_. And I dedicate it to the awesome _**Cymru na Aletharia**_, who gently asked (well, demanded) I write up this particular scenario. You don't need to read all of _Shadows_, or even that particular chapter/conversation to get this at all. But it's fun if you do. Also, there's some language in this story. More than what I usually use. But it's no biggie._  
_(_**Cymru**_, I don't know if this is 'funny' enough for you or not. It's what came out. I did my best! Though, once more, its obviously something I'd write, lol)_

_Anyway, I hope you all enjoy and please, please leave reviews!_

_Disclaimer: I own only my own plots/characters. Nolan owns the rest._

* * *

He was in trouble.

The moment he woke up and took off with his team, he knew that this was going to come back and bite him in the ass.

Afterward, Amy, the extractor, laughed at him over drinks.

"The boy's young, but he's not stupid, Will. He's going to find out."

Eames shook his head, trying to hid in denial. "Nah, it will be fine. I mean, what are the odds?"

"The odds that, since you impersonated him, said his name, and flirted with the mark's wife in the dream—then the mark knowing why we were there—Arthur finding out and murdering you? Oh, I say they're pretty good. I wouldn't be surprised if he found out before this time tomorrow." She finished her drink and stood. "William Eames, you're brilliant, but this time, you fucked up. Call me if you're still alive next week." She tossed a few coins on the bar and left, chuckling to herself.

Because she knew as well as he did that he was in serious trouble.

He hadn't meant to take on Arthur's image. It had been something random; his last image had failed and he didn't want the mark to see his face. The first person to come to mind was him. And he had no idea why.

So he changed, sought the mark's projection of his wife, and, in order to rile him up and catch him, he flirted shamelessly. Sly caresses, whispers close, his lips tickling her skin. Running his thumb along the delicate bones in her hand, buying her another drink. He could feel the rage like waves of heat from a sunlamp directed at him. Or, rather, Arthur.

But what he found most interesting was the projection hadn't fought him off, hadn't told him to beat it. Which meant the mark knew his wife was a bit of a lush. To say the least.

When the mark finally was enraged enough to break up their tété-a-tété, he'd foolishly flipped him a business card with the name Arthur on it and several bogus numbers.

"You think you can fool me, you asshole? Wake me the fuck up so you can face me like a man."

"What?" Eames stuttered, eyes searching for Amy in the crowd. He saw her at the door, watching them with horror on her face. Horror transforming to rage.

Understandably. After all, they hadn't agreed upon him to take this form.

Oh, and the dream was crumbling around them at an alarming rate.

Amy pointed her gun across the room at him and shot him square in the head, launching him back into reality. He assumed this was not to save him the trouble of being beaten by the mark (something he was sure she'd actually think he'd deserve at this point) but for him to get out and grab their point man to book it out of the dingy abandoned hotel they'd taken temporary refuge in.

Their point man, Bronson, looked up from the PASIV and frowned. "What did you do?"

"Me? Why do you assume it was me?" Eames groused, letting the man take his extension and wind it up. The timer gave a ten second warning as he stood and grabbed his small bag.

"Why else would you be out before the time's up, Eames? Get the hell out of here, meet Amy at the pub outside Lancaster and we'll go from there." Bronson pulled the cords from Amy and the mark, effectively winding them and shutting the PASIV with a snap. Amy woke and glared at Eames.

"Seriously, Will. You're such an ass."

"Sorry, sorry. I take things too far. I'll see you all in a bit, then." Eames hurriedly walked out the door and down the bleak alleyways towards the less seedy parts of town.

Watching him go, Bronson checked the pulse of the still snoozing mark. When Amy nodded, they took off the back way. "What did he do this time?"

Amy massaged her temple wearily. "He impersonated Arthur Callahan. Idiot." She muttered the last part, ducking into their hotel, something much nicer than the ruins they'd just come from.

"Wait... Cobb's new point man?" Amy nodded. "Fuck. Better say our goodbyes. He's not really fond of Eames in the first place."

He walked in the elevator and held the door open for his partner. "No, he's really not. But I suppose that's what he gets when he constantly pushes the kid's buttons."

Bronson snorted. "Did you get it?"

"I...got enough. Hopefully enough for our employers. Will fucked it up. I was _almost _there. But... I'm more worried about Arthur, to be honest. He's a sharp guy, but its a mess he doesn't know about."

"Nah, he'll be fine."

Amy nodded, quiet as she watched the lights of the elevator climb to their floor.

_**Two weeks later**_

"I'm going to kill you."

Eames pulled his cell back, glancing at the unfamiliar number before putting it back to his ear and saying, "Get in line. You might have a wait, though. Who is this?"

"Eames, the next time I see you, I will kill you."

Immediately, the distaste and thinly veiled rage clicked in place for Eames as he realized who had called him. "Arthur! Good to hear you're well."

"No thanks to you, you ass. Why have I had men from Goddard Industries sniffing around me?" Arthur's tone left no room for nonsense.

To which Eames took as a challenge. "You don't like my surprise? I know, I know, I should have said something sooner, but it completely slipped my mind."

Arthur took a deep breath. "You may not have remembered at the time, but I do work with other people on a more regular basis than you. This means not only are they sniffing around me, but they are watching Dom and Mal, yes?"

"Oh, right. Sorry about that. To be honest, I didn't really mean anything by it." It had slipped his mind that Arthur did indeed work with those two more often than others. Most in their business rotated frequently between business _associates_. And good ol' Arthur was not only going against the grain there, but was also dabbling in the more legal side of rounds. Cobb only really did the legal stuff.

_Boring sod, now that he's married_, Eames thought, rolling his eyes as Arthur just kept talking and talking.

"And I know you're not listening to me because you haven't insulted me in the last five minutes. But I'm serious. You're going to be sorry, Eames."

"You're right naggy, Arthur. Like a housewife. And I understand. I'm sorry. Is that really a reason to want to kill me?"

"If it means satisfaction in case I get killed, perhaps."

Sighing, Eames ran a hand over his face before answering. "Fine. Next time we work together, you can exact your revenge. Scout's honor."

Arthur chuckled, which sent a chill unbidden down his spine. "Thanks for your false sense of security in that honor."

"No problem. I have no worries. Your astounding lack of imagination only has me worried for a shot in the head or maybe a girlish kick to the groin. Have a good evening, Callahan." Eames snapped the phone shut and tossed it on his bed, following it moments later.

_Should I admit I'm a bit worried?_ He let his thoughts run wild a moment before reigning them back in.

"Nah... This is Arthur we're talking about."

_**Six months later**_

"Eames..."

He looked up from his drink and saw Dom Cobb standing to his left, smiling tightly. "Cobb! Well, look what the devil dragged to Berlin. How are you, then?"

Cobb sat next to him, ordering a gin and tonic. "Been alright. I've got a job, thought you might be interested."

"You need little old me? I'm honored," Eames grinned into his drink. "What kind of job?"

"Subconscious security. You know the jobs I do. I need someone to be a...diversion of sorts. Someone to drive home the point."

"Why me? That sort of thing, that's usually why you have your wife with you, isn't it? She's quite unique in that respect as well, yes?" Something in the back of his brain poked at him, urging him to think quick. He ignored it.

"Mal is pregnant. She can't go into the dreamscape."

Eames clapped him on the back. "Congrats, man! Why are you here and not with her?"

"It's early in the pregnancy still. But in a month or two, I'll be taking time off."

His hunch was right. Cobb was harmless right now. The last time Mal had been pregnant, he'd been a kitten until the last two months or so. Then he became as moody as an irritated, caged tiger.

"Why not? I've got some free time in the foreseeable future. Lead the way, old man!" He stood, finishing his drink.

Cobb followed suit, flashing him an irritated look. "You're not that much younger than me, you ass."

"Oh, cheer up, mate. You're only grousing because having kids means you're old." Eames winked. "Also, why does everyone insist on the name calling? Do I really look like I have an ass face? I always thought I was dashing enough..."

Shoving him to the door, Cobb said, "It's because you are."

"A warehouse? This isn't your typical choice place for meetings, Dom." Eames looked around, unable to contain his surprise and distaste for the location. "Oh, are those rats back there?" He turned, the poking at the back of his mind more insistent. "Dom?"

Dom wasn't alone. Arthur stood next to the architect, a frown on his face.

"Ah, Arthur on this go around as well? Didn't think there was too much of a need for a hardcore point man like yourself. Still dressing for success, I see." Eames rolled his eyes. Sometimes, he thought, Arthur did things just because he wanted to hear him and his remarks.

"Eames, do you remember six months ago. What I told you?" Arthur tucked his hands in his pockets, watching him.

He thought for a moment. "Oh, really Arthur. I thought you were just saying that in the passion of the moment. You didn't really mean it!"

"I did," he deadpanned.

"Dom, keep you kid in line, here. He's a bit too hotheaded."

Cobb shook his head. "I kind of agree with Arthur's point, Eames. You did something incredibly foolish. Giving his name to your mark? Using his image without permission in this business? Very sloppy."

"So you're going to let him try to execute me?" Eames took a step back. He wasn't too worried. He wasn't green. But in a match of wits and skill, there was no telling if he'd come out alive. Arthur, he hated to admit, was a prodigy.

_Kid's in the business barely two years and he's got a reputation as scary as they come,_ he thought derisively.

"I don't know what he's going to do. I'm leaving. Whatever he does, what the two of you do, is totally unknown to me. I'll see you around." Cobb turned and made his way to the door of the warehouse, letting it slam without a care.

"Didn't think you were really all that afraid of me, Eames," Arthur admitted, pulling a gun from his side holster. "But you have to admit, you gave me permission."

Eames patted himself for his own pistol that he always carried around. It wasn't there. "When the hell did I do that?"

"The same time I told you I'd kill you, of course. You said the next time we worked together, I could have my revenge." Without warning, he shot Eames in the kneecap.

"Fucking hell!"

He collapsed to the dirty ground, gasping for breath. His mind was racing. The sonofabitch had really shot him. Staring down at him, Arthur watching him with nonchalance.

"Does it hurt?"

Eames looked up at him incredulously. "You fucking fuck fuck face. Of course it hurts!"

"Hm, good." He shot him in the other leg, causing a chilling scream to come from Eames' lips.

"You assface, just fucking kill me already!" Eames cried, floundering. He didn't know whether to grasp his wounds or to kill the little cunt to was standing over him. All he knew was the rage in him was the only think keeping him from passing out.

Arthur lowered his gun, frowning. "Eames, when are you going to wake up?"

_What?_

"What the fuck are you talking about?"

Music floated around them, causing them both to jerk their heads upward to the sky.

"Also, you're the ass." Arthur gave the forger a small grin and shot himself in the head.

Eames watched his body fall to the ground and the dream crumble around him. How the fuck had he wound up in a dream?

"Cobb...That little prick... I knew he still had it in him," Eames chuckled to himself, hissing in pain. "Right, don't laugh. Laughing hurts."

When he woke up, he was alone. Or, he thought he was.

He got up from the bed in his apartment (how had they found him?) and tried to walk off the phantom pains in his legs.

"Got to admit, the kid knew what the fuck he was doing. Hell," he muttered, massaging his knees.

"Aw, thanks, Eames." Arthur stood by his door, stance similar to the same one he held before he'd whipped out his gun in the dream.

Eames started, grabbing the wall for support. He couldn't help himself. He was genuinely spooked at the entire situation. "Bloody hell. You're going to give me a heartattack."

Arthur cocked his head. "You're fine. You're not even thirty. Now, consider us even." He turned to leave.

"So you squared things away with Goddard?"

He turned and faced the Brit. "There's an...agreement. But I swear to god, I will kill you for real next time. No tricks. No torture. I'll kill you where you stand."

Eames swallowed hard. "Right, right. Never again. Honestly, I hadn't meant to."

"Still. Make sure you remember today, Eames. Every time you change your face. Remember that there's consequences to your actions."

He left, the door barely making an noise as it clicked shut.

"Still," Eames said to himself, "I can mess around with you. Words are more fun with you, Arthur."

* * *

_**A/N**: Leave me a review and tell me what went through your mind! Did I mention that I don't live off food or air, but rather reviews? It's true. Thanks for reading!_


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